Footsteps
by RascalJoy
Summary: A clatter echoed throughout the Batcave as the brush dropped from Dick's hand, bats squeaking in protest at the sudden burst of noise. Dick turned to face his mentor, his normally bright blue eyes full of horror and fear. "I...I almost died." (After the events of Performance, it suddenly hit Robin just how close he had come to following in his parents' footsteps.)


**A/N:** Yay! Another one-shot! :3

This has actually been in my fic folder for an embarrassingly long time... One of my first ideas, actually ,:D

Well, finally finished it! So happy!

This takes place so and so hours (maybe a day, I don't remember) after "Performance," because how could any kid just walk away from a fall like that? ;)

As always, please enjoy! :)

 _edit 7-7-15_ : Thanks to Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt for pointing out my error of the dripping Batmobile! I made it more realistic now ;)

* * *

 _Gotham City  
December 24, 20:32 EDT_

Something was wrong. Batman could tell from the way the boy's eyebrows furrowed under his dripping bangs, the slight downward curve of his lips as the sponge scraped almost absentmindedly along the roof of the Batmobile.

Batman knew his protégé well enough to guess what he was thinking about: the fabricated mission. He knew Dick was going over each tiny detail in his mind, studying ever aspect to learn more about both his teammates and enemies abilities, wondering what he could have possibly done better to change a given outcome. The realization was coming. It wouldn't be long now.

Robin had returned exactly three hours ago from the completely unauthorized mission with the team. And not only had the mission been unauthorized: it had been personal.

Personal missions were not appropriate to drag an entire covert team on. Not only for the reason that it was a waste of resources toward an ultimately selfish goal. But also because of the fact that they had no idea why they were doing something that seemed so trivial as proving a circus troupe innocent of theft; had no idea of the emotional ties involved.

Batman had known something was off—other than the fact that Robin had slipped away without permission—the moment the R-Cycle had roared into the Batcave earlier that evening. The alarm bells had really started clanging when the boy hadn't said a word in his defense as punishment was sentenced, trotting almost meekly to the well-used closet where Alfred kept his cleaning equipment and chemicals.

Robin never accepted sentence without trial.

When the Haly problem first came up, Bruce knew Dick would undoubtedly return to his old home to help. It didn't prevent him from attempting to stop the boy—Dick's turning up, even undercover, just as the circus fell into trouble and then leaving the moment it was over would be more than suspicious—but he had admittedly not tried very hard.

Despite the well-covered tracks, and heavily fire walled documents, Batman had kept tabs on his ward's work from day one. The moment the boy had bought plane tickets, an alert appeared on Bruce's laptop screen. A seamstress in Metropolis was contacted about costumes, and his phone buzzed a warning in his pocket. When Robin was briefing the team, Batman watched silently from the security cameras.

After they'd left, Batman had set up a keyword search for anything, and everything pertaining to Haly's Circus and the Daring Dangers. He knew the schedules, everything from lunch break to performance outlines. He tracked every show, doggedly watching every clip and studying every photo to ensure that his boy was okay.

The fluid grace the boy showed on the trapeze was positively breathtaking. Bruce had forgotten what it was like to simply enjoy brilliant displays of acrobatics that had no real purpose except to entertain. But he could see in Dick's eyes the absolute joy this gave him, see in his movements how the adrenaline ran through his veins. And yet, he could also see the longing. This had been the first time Dick had been in his home court for just under five years. And he had never performed with anyone other than a Grayson. That alone was probably enough to give the boy some serious nostalgia.

And that was how he found it: a YouTube video entitled "Daring Save by Daring Dangers!" that an excited audience member had posted after one of the shows in Bruges.

Now, swallowing hard, he fought the images of the falling child from his mind. But he couldn't help but relive the mind numbing horror that he'd felt as he recalled the contents of the video.

Bruce's breath had caught in his throat as he took in the unplanned fall—he'd memorized their performance too well for it to be anything but—the flailing arms as Dick stared up at M'gann and members of the crowd screamed in fear and suspense. Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine, even though he'd seen the brilliant save by a certain Conner Kent in the form of a barrel. As Dick's upward momentum had reached its peak, Batman knew the bird wouldn't have made the grab—even in the grainy video, that had been clear. But, a small jerk, only noticeable to the trained eye, was seen as Dick's hand slipped up into Dawn Danger's—or M'gann's—waiting hands.

It had taken Bruce hours to overcome the horror of once again witnessing the fall of a Grayson. And he could only imagine how it had felt to Dick.

So Bruce waited, eyes flitting from screen to screen, from report to report as sudsy splashes echoed behind him. Batman knew what was wrong. He had seen it. Now that the adrenaline from the mission was over, he knew it was only a matter of time.

In fact, given how long Dick had been thinking for... His mental timer that had subconsciously began the moment Robin first rolled in made itself known.

 _3_...

The steady scrubbing of the brush began to slow, the strokes becoming fewer and farther between.

 _2_...

The scraping, splashing sounds had practically stopped.

 _1_...

A clatter echoed throughout the Batcave, bats squeaking in protest on the ceiling at the sudden burst of noise.

Bruce whirled around in the computer chair, lurching to his feet as his ward sank to his knees beside the dropped brush, his expression stricken. It took only three strides before he reached the boy's side, sinking down to one knee beside the fallen child.

Dick turned to face his mentor, his normally bright blue eyes full of horror and fear. "I...I almost died."

Batman wrapped an arm around his protégé's shoulders, pulling him gently against his chest.

"On the trapeze, no net," Robin stammered on, "Haly's circus. Just like them."

"I know, chum," Bruce murmured, rubbing a hand up the trembling spine. "It's okay."

"No," Dick grunted. "It's not." With a jerk, he looked up at Bruce, tears glittering in his usually humorous blue eyes. "I disobeyed you," he said. "I dragged a top secret team into a personal mission without your permission. And it came so close to ending in disaster—for everyone. I'm sorry." He buried his face in the Kevlar-encased chest, clutching Batman's cape tightly in both hands. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed.

Bruce didn't even hesitate before wrapping his arms completely around the boy, hugging him close as the shock of what had almost happened finally caught up with him.

Burying his chin in the raven hair, Bruce squeezed tighter, providing silent comfort and support as Dick's shoulders shook with unsuppressed sobs.

And for a moment, that's all there was: Bruce's arms secured safely around his boy as stifled cries rang through the usual stillness and quiet of the Batcave. Bruce wasn't sure how long they sat there, sitting on the hard floor in the near dark. But he didn't mind. As the twin salty rivers slowed to trickles, then to drops, Bruce became aware of dull aches in his knees where he was kneeling on the stone and concrete. He inwardly shrugged. That was life.

The quiet stretched on, Bruce content to let Dick make the first move. He had no desire to push the boy into sharing if he didn't want to. But knowing Dick...

As predicted, he was the first to break the silence.

"S-sorry," Dick repeated, his cheeks flushing as he started to wiggle from Bruce's grasp. "That was stupid."

Bruce frowned in confusion, a shadow of dread passing in his heart. "How is that stupid?"

Dick's cheeks burned brighter. "Um...you know...crying...like that." He shifted uncomfortably.

Immediately, Bruce pulled the boy back onto his lap, cupping the back of the young head against his chest as he forced down a brief surge of anger that Dick thought it necessary to keep it all in. "It is not stupid to show how you feel, Dick," he stated firmly, sensing the boy flinch slightly in his arms. "It's a part of who you are. I know I'm not the best role model—"

Cue snort.

Bruce managed a smirk. "But it's not healthy to bottle everything up inside. Don't do it."

"But I thought..." Robin trailed off, turning his face into the armored bat logo on Bruce's chest as if embarrassed.

"You thought what?" Bruce prodded gently.

There was an awkward pause.

Then, Dick mumbled something that Bruce had to strain to hear: "I thought you wanted me to be more like Batman."

"No!" Batman barked, causing the boy to jerk in surprise and the bats in the ceiling to squeak at his outburst. With enormous effort, Bruce forced down his sudden panic. "No," he repeated firmly. "I don't want you to be more like Batman. Just...stay the way you are, okay?"

A beat of silence, then: "I can do that."

Bruce could hear the ghost of a smile in the boy's voice.

For a moment, they sat in peaceful quiet, broken only by the faraway sound of running water somewhere in the cave system's innermost chambers.

Suddenly, a thought struck Bruce. "Why didn't you bring West along?" He didn't feel the need to clarify.

Luckily, Dick followed the slight topic change, shrugging miserably as he burrowed farther into the black and grey costume.

After yet another silence, Bruce felt it necessary to speak up: "I know he knows, Dick."

Actually, it was only a hunch that had been building for a year or so after the two boys had met for the first time, recently having been nearly confirmed in the speedster's comment of Bruce Wayne during the Bialya mission briefing a couple months ago. After all, the secret identity thing was something Bruce kept strict track of. Wally's potential knowledge of the secret had been considered at the suddenly distinct closeness the two had formed within hardly a year of knowing each other. Even closer than Dick had gotten to any of his school friends with the exception of Barbara Gordon within a few years.

The boy in his arms flinched violently at the proclamation, instantly solidifying Batman's suspicions. "You—you do?" Then, in a low voice Bruce barely picked heard: "Of course you know. You're Batman."

Yet another pause. It was during these awkward "conversations" that Bruce became suddenly aware of how much he'd come to rely on Dick to fill the void of silence with chatter and laughter; words in some form.

As if to prove his point: "How—how long have you known?" came the subdued voice.

"Pretty much directly after you told him." That was half true. Bruce had only suspected until a few months ago.

Robin grimaced, seeming to shrink in Bruce's arms. "And...you're not mad?"

Bruce had to think about that. When he'd first deduced the speedster knew their identities, he had been absolutely livid. With a little help from Alfred, he had managed not to explode on poor Dick, instead waiting for the right moment to confront the boy, or for Dick to admit it himself. But as the weeks rolled by, Bruce had grown less and less angry over the reveal. By some miracle, the chatterbox of a teen hadn't slipped Dick's identity to anyone, even his fellow partners. And on many occasions, Bruce had found himself glad that West knew about Richard's past—like in this situation right here.

"No," he said finally.

Shocked blue eyes turned up to meet his. "Really?"

Bruce nodded solemnly in confirmation. "Wally's a good friend, Dick. And he's proven he can keep his mouth shut when it counts." He cleared his throat. "You chose your best friend well."

A small, relieved smile broke on the boy's face. "Cool."

"But," Bruce warned, "if you tell anyone your name again without my express permission, you're going to be scrubbing bat guano out of the cave floor with a toothbrush for a month."

Brilliant blue eyes widened comically. "Yes, sir."

For a moment, they just stared at each other: eye to eye, blue to blue.

And for the first time in not ever, it was Bruce who cracked the smile first. A matching sparkling grin burst on Dick's once again happy features, seeming to shed light into even the darkest corners of the cave—much like its young owner had been doing in Bruce's life ever since the boy walked through the door of Wayne Manor for the very first time.

"Come on," Bruce chuckled, clambering to his feet and reaching a hand to help Dick stand beside him. "Let's see if Alfred's finished that batch of Christmas cookies yet."

"Yes!" Dick cried, pumping a fist in the air. And then he was running, whooping as he hit the stairway and whisked around the corner. "I call the reindeer!" echoed back on the faint breeze.

Bruce's smile stretched just a little wider as he moved to follow his ward (son), only briefly glancing at the still dripping Batmobile. Bruce would take care of it later. But right now, all that mattered was Dick's safety, happiness, and well-being; and he had managed to secure all three. Maybe it would be a good Christmas after all.


End file.
